


Charmed

by misslonelyhearts



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Fluff, unlikely friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:59:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misslonelyhearts/pseuds/misslonelyhearts





	Charmed

The bath restores him, pulls the tight strain and cramp from the muscles of his thighs, and he sinks all the way down until the water laps against the curve of his lower lip.  One down, he thinks, smiling up at the ceiling, and lifts a dripping arm to check the day off an invisible calendar.  Two days more, counting the shifts he picked up from Cerimon out of pity, and he can have a whole weekend to himself. 

When the water turns cold, too cold to ignore, Jethann reluctantly drags his softened limbs out of the tub and dries off.  He dresses in nothing fancy, determined to be relaxed from this point of the day forward, and pokes at his wet ears with the corner of a towel. 

Somewhere in the lobby, a male voice bellows unintelligibly, and Jethann can hear the snick and clatter of dozens of doors opening to investigate.  The Rose doesn’t close, per se, but there are certainly slow times.  These are a handful of hours when the glare of the sun is a little too bright, and the press of people around the square is a little too familiar.  Jethann likes to think of those hours as the Gift of Guilt; tiny pockets of time where the girls and boys of the Rose can crack their joints and Lusine unclenches her arsehole just a smidge.  So now, in the middle of the day, a gargling, screaming man down below is something of a tempting mystery.  And, who is he to deny curiosity?  He drops the towel and saunters from his suite. 

What he finds is . . .Gamlen?  Gamlen the recalcitrant drunk, and favorite of no-one, clinging to the bar with reddened fingers as Quintus and a woman struggle to pry him off.  By the time he reaches the lobby, most everyone has lost interest.  Only Porfiria and Viveka remain, whispering together with crossed arms and snarly lips.  Jethann casts about, looking for their hired muscle.  As usual, Lusine’s man is nowhere to be found.  Probably off – or, getting off --  with the Madame herself, who is also conspicuously absent for this commotion.  But, Gamlen’s not a bother, usually, and the woman currently yanking at his waist is certainly pretty.  All things considered, it’s an opportunity.

So, he sighs and tucks his hands in his pockets, remembering to smile.

“Is this a private party, or can anyone join?”

“I’m so sorry if he’s disturbing everyone.”  The woman stops trying to heave Gamlen off the bar, and turns to Jethann with a small frown.  She’s not just pretty.  He can see now what he couldn’t see from the stairs, or even from the back with the line of her neck and the sweep of silvery hair.  The woman is stunning.  And _very_ familiar.  He watches the coral bud of her mouth as she speaks.  “I don’t suppose there’s a trick to this?  If at all possible, I’d like to avoid calling a guard.”

“No trick.  Well, not for that.”  He winks at her, and finds so much charm in how she refuses to smile.  A challenge.  Delicious.  She looks down at Gamlen’s back where he’s stretched himself across the bar, hugging it.  Jethann shakes his head.  “We’ve given up telling him when he’s had enough.  Trust me, he’ll be fine.”

She doesn’t look convinced, and he wants to hug her for the sweet way she touches the old man’s shoulder.  There’s so much in the flex of her fingers and the curve of her cheek that remind him suddenly of Ninette.  He gestures at the barstool.

“Have a drink with me?”

At this, Gamlen’s head jerks up.

“Yuss.  S’what I’ve been trying to get her to do for years.”  He cups his forehead and looks up at the heavens with a groan.  “ _Years._ ”

Jethann decides to be revolted by Gamlen a little less from now on.  Now that he knows the man has sense enough to consort with women of quality on occasion.  And, the woman in question gives him the first of what he hopes will be a mountain of smiles.

“Thank you, serah, but it’s the middle of the day.  I just wanted to bring him home. . .”

“Oh, aren’t you the most precious thing.  _Serah!_ ”  He grins and nods at Quintus, who has, thankfully, never been the surly type.  Even with elves.  The bartender releases his grip on Gamlen’s fingers, and everyone in the tense little tableau lets their muscles breathe.  “Sit down, dear lady, you’ll like what I’m having, I think.”

Quintus raises an eyebrow, but moves away in silence to fill Jethann’s unspoken order.  She sits beside Gamlen, and smoothes her palms across the lap of her dress.  Jethann laces his fingers together and hooks them over his knee as he speaks.

“If you don’t tell me your name I’ll just make one up.  Penelope . . .or Eustace or something.”

“Leandra Hawke.”  She holds her hand out, half flat and half turned as if deciding which courtly rules apply at the Rose.  Jethann takes her slim knuckles and bows over them.

“It is an exquisite honor, Leandra.”  And, though he’s not impressed with much these days, the elf takes particular interest in how she reveals virtually nothing when he kisses the back of her hand. “My name is Jethann, and I hope you’ll call on me the next time you come to collect your husband.”

Leandra’s face goes slightly pink, and Gamlen sputters beside her.

“He’s. . . my brother, in fact.”  And she looks a little proud for a moment, before weariness takes her and the faded blue eyes dart away.

Quintus sets a tray on the bar.  Leandra turns to find a squat, stoneware teapot leaking steam, and two Antivan-style cups so delicate that the light passes nearly through them.

Which earns Jethann not only another smile for the tally, but a tilt of her elegant head.

“You know, I think that might just hit the spot.” 

“Well, it’s my job to know these things.  I can’t seem to turn it off.”  His hands go up and he shakes his head.

“Nor should you.  It is an excellent quality.”  She leans into the steam, inhaling, and Jethann wants to touch her fingers again, and watch her eyes. Something there, beneath the porcelain skin and the tracery of blue, is stronger than aurum.

Leandra lets a little of the starch out, and leans against the bar with her back to Gamlen.  As he pours the fragrant tea for them, a blend of orange essence and spicy black leaves, Jethann notices that Quintus has also furnished the drunk with a whole tankard of coffee. 

They drink in silence, at first.  But she surprises him with a smart question here and there, mostly about his days off, and his shopping habits. When he goes against his instinct -- against protocol, really -- and asks about her family, she gives him answers that he admires as much for their warmth as for their sagacity.  Gamlen snorts into his coffee, but keeps the bitterness to himself for once. 

“The people I’ve had the privilege to love,” she says, “Are sometimes like the very embodiment of the Maker’s wicked sense of humor.”

“See? I bet you thought we had nothing in common.” He replies, blinking.

After the third cup of tea, Jethann reminds himself not to stare at the way she blows over the translucent rim of the cup before sipping.  And she’s so polite, so accepting of his particular brand of inquisitiveness, and his flirtation, that the elf forgets to be anything but just a friend for a few minutes.

He wonders if she makes everyone feel that way . . .and if he might convince her to come out with him on his rest day.


End file.
